


The Spirit from Its Cell

by azephirin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Ambiguous Relationships, Comment Fic, Female Characters, Ficlet, Labor Unions, Meme, Other, Pennsylvania, Quotations, Sharing a Bed, Siblings, Wincest - Freeform, Winston Churchill - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>The earth shall rise on new foundations....</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spirit from Its Cell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://girlmostlikely.livejournal.com/profile)[**girlmostlikely**](http://girlmostlikely.livejournal.com/)'s [H/C meme](http://tvm.livejournal.com/195958.html) and originally posted [here](http://tvm.livejournal.com/195958.html?thread=5002870#t5002870). Sam/Dean or not, reader's choice. Title and summary from "[The Internationale](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Internationale#English_lyrics)," American version.

They're in the mountains of Pennsylvania, banishing a ghost. It's old coal-mining country, and the house is a creaky cabin passed down through a family of union organizers. The ghost is a Pinkerton agent, killed in a riot after his men fired on a group of strikers.

Afterwards, the woman who lives there now—an electrician, president of her IBEW chapter—rests a shaky hand on her porch rail and says, "I never expected everybody to like me. But I didn't think I'd have enemies from beyond the grave."

The words rush into Sam's head from his twentieth-century history class, and they spill out before realizes. "You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life." She looks blank, and Sam hurries to explain, "Winston Churchill said that. Not me. I mean, not originally, anyway."

She laughs, then, and says, "I don't think I really did all that much. My granddaddy's the one who got shot at. I just carried on the family line."

She's leathery and tough from a hard life, but before they leave, Sam hugs her gently, carefully, the way he'd touch a lady of great name. "Carrying on is hard enough," he says.

— ◆ —

 

Late that night, they stop to rest, check into something called the Welcome Inn. It is, Sam thinks, recalling another phrase, no better than it should be. They lay the salt, draw the sigils, shower, but it isn't until the room is dark and they're in bed that Dean says, "You really think that?"

Sam's almost asleep, but he turns over, tries to clear his mind enough to figure out what Dean's referring to. "Think what?"

"About the enemies."

"Yeah," Sam says. "I do."

"Huh," says Dean, then adds, "I guess Winston Churchill might have known what he was talking about."

"Maybe," Sam agrees.

He never knows, these days, when Dean will flinch at being touched or when he'll ease into it the way he used to. This time, when Sam puts a tentative hand on his chest, there's no intake of breath, no start, just the quiet steadiness of Dean's pulse under Sam's palm. Sam takes that as a good sign, and when he wraps his arms around Dean, his brother doesn't protest; if anything, his body relaxes into Sam's, welcoming him as they lie warm and close. Sam wants only what Dean will give him, and this is enough, knowing that they're together and safe. They haven't won, not yet, but they haven't lost, either, and tomorrow they'll keep standing.


End file.
